


winter-turning-spring (or the color of your eyes)

by postfixrevolution



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Gen, Loki as Odin, Post T:TDW, it's like a slice of life but with a very healthy side of anGST AND SADNESS WHOOPS, mainly introspective, past/implied relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-26
Updated: 2014-09-26
Packaged: 2018-02-18 20:02:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2360489
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/postfixrevolution/pseuds/postfixrevolution
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sif measures things in heartbeats, like how his smug smirk always takes three tantalizing heartbeats to form, or how his hurt is always hidden a half beat slower than his anger.</p>
            </blockquote>





	winter-turning-spring (or the color of your eyes)

Sif's footsteps easily harmonize with her heartbeats as she strides down the grand hallways of Asgard's castle, her own personal metronome to take with her everywhere. The echoing is familiar to her ears, so ingrained in her that she's sure it is now a part of her soul — the part that makes these golden walls her home just as much as it makes the battlefield. This part of her soul finds peace in the cadenced thuds, a feeling that can only be described as one of continuity and solace. 

The addition of two more sets of footsteps turns the harmony into something more of a harmonic cacophony and brings back different memories, ones of battles fought side by side and camaraderie peppered with slight annoyance. The rowdier two of the Warriors Three had many ways of grating on her nerves, but they were nonetheless very close companions of hers, on and off the battlefield. A brief recollection of the few less glorious and more treasonous battles they've fought before brings begrudging nostalgia to the forefronts of her mind, and Sif would've smiled and laughed ruefully had the situation not been so unfitting. 

The three of them make haste to the throne room; the silence that nestles its way between them is not so much uncomfortable as unpalatable, filled with silent self-stemming doubt and company-spurned reassurance. They had assisted Thor knowing that their actions were flagrantly treason, but the consequences then seemed so surreal. Now, their reality grew more with each impending step. While they all hoped for the best, they all knew that getting off as easily as Thor did wasn't likely; none of them had personally saved all the Nine Realms recently, after all. 

Sif is the one to push open the doors to the throne room, and when she does, light and the sight of a newly rebuilt hall fills their eyes. The King is perched carefully on the edge of his throne while his face a mask of stern solemnity; the dichotomy of both actions is lost on two out of three of those present, but not a second thought is spared anyway. Gungnir is held delicately between curled fingers, supported by the man on the throne rather than supporting him. 

At the foot of the stairs before the throne, the three warriors kneel, heads bowed as they wait with bated breath for their monarch to speak. And speak he does, not before thudding Gungnir once against the ground in a sign to his warriors to lift their heads. 

"Twice," he booms, and the word makes Sif bite back a grimace, "Have you three committed treason against the crown in my son's name, and twice have you stood before me as I am forced to judge Asgard's own pledged warriors. While it is true I had granted you three mercy last time, the fact that the action stands repeated makes me question the severity of my rule. Have I shrunk in the eyes of my son's brazen friends, no longer a figure worthy of fear and respect?" 

His voice is one of authority, his words of umbrage and disgruntled disappointment; he speaks in a way that makes the gravity of their actions falls a bit heavier on their shoulders, a true command of words that tugs a stand of familiarity at the back of Sif's mind. She ignores it, instead putting forth her energy into barring back the words of defiance dancing across the tip of her tongue — reminders of the victory their actions brought about and harsh truths about cowardice in the face of adversity. She can see Volstagg swallow thickly and Fandral twitch his leg slightly in an attempt not to nervously tap his feet. They all exchange a fleeting glance, and when none step forward, Sif fears she might just blurt out her disagreements. 

"Never, my king," Fandral offers finally, and Sif almost sighs in relief. "We, as warriors, pledge ourselves to Asgard and our actions were merely in blind hope that we could bring about future prosperity to our realm." 

Carefully worded, Sif notes, if not a bit obsequious. Odin's single eye stares down at them scrutinizingly, and suddenly, the female warrior feels smaller than she ever has before in the king's presence; she is not so much unable to muster her brave warrior's pride as she feels as though his very gaze was dissecting her, peeling back every facade and mistold truth in a way only green eyes used to be capable of, leaving her vulnerable and open — a feeling that shook the warrior to the very core. Dread stirs in the pit of her stomach at the feeling and she silently recites a plea to her ancestors that Odin might find them mercy. 

"Very well," the King replies, scrutinizing gaze gone as if it were never there, and Sif releases the breath she didn't know she was holding. "Sirs Fandral and Volstagg, Lady Sif, warriors of Asgard; rise. For your crimes against the crown, you shall not be granted mercy a second time—" Sif feels her heart stop— "but leniency, on behalf of Asgard and the Nine Realms that still continue on as a result of your actions." 

Sif does not cry out with joy, but she and her companions share a look that suffices all the same. 

"You three are to gather the rest of the war criminals released by Malekith during his incursion and return them to the dungeons as your punishment. Following that, the Nine Realms are in need of warriors to help clear the troubles the Convergence leaves in its wake. That burden falls unto your hands now, and I trust you three to handle it well." 

They nod, each with a fist over their heart as they bow their heads once more in deference, and the Allfather dismisses them with a flourish of finality. Sif glances up at the King before she takes her leave; she sees a flash of something pensive in his eyes, something vibrant as the frost-tipped grass of winter-turning-spring, but it and the ache of familiarity it gives her are gone in half a heartbeat and she's turning to walk away. 

As they march out of the throne room, their footsteps echo again, accompanied by the raucous relief of her friends at the outcome of their meeting, and Sif measures out a slightly different scenario in her head: two and a half heartbeats would pass before Thor would come and clap her hard across the back, beaming and laughing at the favorable passage of events. Four beats later, Loki would fall into step beside her, seemingly unaffected save for the slight twitch of a smirk on his cool features — relief hid by a cavalier countenance — and their eyes would lock for two tantalizing beats; she'd offer a warm smile and his eyes would flash with something indiscernible yet heart-racingly pleasant, only there for half a half beat, before he'd look away with a slightly larger smile that they'd both pretend they didn't know was only for her. 

Instead, the gold and orange of the autumn leaves makes a poor substitute for green gazes and she fleetingly wonders how many weeks are left until winter and the spring that follows after, when light frost kisses the top of emerald grass in a way that always manages to give her three heartbeats of nostalgic pause. 

**Author's Note:**

> Just a trivial slice of post-canon sadness... Thinking about Loki as Odin generally makes me sad. :(
> 
> I might consider adding to this (making it an unrelated drabbles collection) or building on it (interconnected drabbles), but for now, it remains a standalone.


End file.
